


captive

by magnificentbirb



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: ATEEZ Universe Compliant, Angst, Dubious Morality, HALATEEZ x ATEEZ, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29506551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnificentbirb/pseuds/magnificentbirb
Summary: Wooyoung’s eyes meet San’s, and it’s terrible, how familiar that gaze is, while still being so wrong.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 27
Kudos: 87





	captive

**Author's Note:**

> i wanted to write some angsty halateez x ateez, so... ta-daaaa~

San’s back slams into the wall, his head knocking so hard against the marble that stars spark in his eyes. Dark eyes meet his, holding him captive, and a strong, black-gloved hand presses against his chest, pinning him like a butterfly on display. The man in black reaches up and unhooks his mask, first from one ear, then from both, revealing a familiar, beloved face. The face itself isn’t a shock—San expected it, knew from the dyed hair and small beauty mark beneath the man’s left eye that this would be _him_ —but the reveal still leaves San breathless, punching the air from his lungs as thoroughly as the shove against the wall.

“You do look like him,” the man in black says, and it’s Wooyoung’s voice, but darker, a bit rougher. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen my San look this scared.” The hand not pinning San to the wall lifts, and gloved fingers brush San’s cheek, cupping his jaw. The man traces San’s bottom lip with his thumb; San’s breath shudders.

“They’ll notice—” San says, shakily, his head throbbing. “They’ll see that I’m gone, they’ll come looking—”

“I’m not planning to hold you captive,” not-Wooyoung says, his hand pausing. “I just wanted to see.”

“See what?” San feels frozen, his heart racing, his hands curled into fists at his sides.

“Whether you’re real.” Gloved fingers slide down San’s jaw to his throat, and then reach back to catch a lock of San’s hair, tugging lightly. “You let your hair grow.”

“What do you want?” San says, harsh.

Wooyoung’s eyes meet San’s, and it’s terrible, how familiar that gaze is, while still being so wrong. There is longing there, burning in those sharp dark eyes. 

“You,” Wooyoung says, his voice hushed, and San’s stomach twists as he realizes that this Wooyoung has been watching him for the same reason San found himself unable to drag his gaze away from the unfamiliar, black-clad Wooyoung seated across the table from him, all shadowed eyes and sharp smiles.

“I’m not yours,” San whispers, his heart in his throat, because those dark eyes are _raw_ , desperate and pained and captivating and yet somehow tender, and San knows that this Wooyoung is seeing someone else entirely when he looks at him, is seeing a San from another world and wishing their places were exchanged.

“I know,” Wooyoung says. “But my San doesn’t look at me the way you do. And I know your Wooyoung doesn’t look at you like this.” Wooyoung splays a gloved hand at the base of San’s throat, exerting just enough pressure for San to _feel_ it. “Don’t you want to try?”

San should say no. He should shove this imposter away and storm back to his crew and find solace in his own Wooyoung, a Wooyoung who holds him and cares for him and loves him, even if it’s not in the way that San— 

This Wooyoung leans forward, breath warm against San’s cheek, and San shivers as he feels soft lips brush against his ear.

“Don’t you want to see what it’s like?” Wooyoung whispers, and San closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. 

“Yes,” he says, hating himself for it, and then Wooyoung pulls back. Gloved hands cup San’s cheeks, and San opens his eyes to see Wooyoung staring at his face, his gaze hungry, hot, heavy. 

“Say my name,” Wooyoung says, low and fierce, and San’s heart trembles.

“Wooyoung—” he says, and then Wooyoung’s lips crush against San’s, hard enough that San can’t hold back a small, muffled whimper. Wooyoung’s fingers curl into San’s skin, just enough to be painful, but then Wooyoung’s lips part and soften and the kiss becomes warmer, and San finds himself sinking. His eyes slip closed and his hands lift to catch Wooyoung’s hips, and if he tries hard enough, he can pretend that these lips belong to someone else, that the hand slipping into his hair is familiar, that the low sound escaping this Wooyoung’s throat is actually coming from another Wooyoung, a warm Wooyoung, a sweet Wooyoung San has known and loved for _years_ — 

This Wooyoung kisses like it’s his last day on earth. He pins San against the marble, one hand threaded into San’s hair, the other raking over San’s shoulder, his chest, until Wooyoung wraps that arm around San’s waist and presses close, his hand splayed against the small of San’s back, proprietary. His kisses are deep, open-mouthed, leaving San breathless and panting, which is apparently how Wooyoung wants him, judging by the small smirk San can feel against his kiss-bruised lips. 

“I’ve imagined him like this,” Wooyoung murmurs, a breath away from San’s mouth. His fingers curl in San’s hair. “All flushed and ready. Somehow the reality is even better.”

“This isn’t real,” San says, even as he hooks a hand around the back of Wooyoung’s neck and drags him into another fierce kiss, drawing a soft sound from Wooyoung, a sound that makes San shiver. “This is—desperation. And a dangerous amount of idiocy.” 

“And yet here you are,” Wooyoung says, and then he grips San’s hair and yanks his head back, the better to press his lips to San’s throat, dragging his teeth over sensitive skin and making San gasp. San digs his fingers into Wooyoung’s back and lets his eyes flutter shut. He knows, distantly, that he should pull Wooyoung off, because any marks left behind would be noticed by not only San’s own crew, but by this Wooyoung’s, as well, and for some reason the idea of letting his other self see—or, god, letting _his_ Wooyoung see—

San grabs Wooyoung roughly by the chin and lifts his head, which seems to startle Wooyoung, his eyes wide and much more familiar as he meets San’s gaze. San allows himself a long, weak moment to take in that doe-eyed expression, so rare on this Wooyoung and yet so common on his own, and then he surges forward to kiss Wooyoung again, swallowing Wooyoung’s soft gasp. Wooyoung presses closer, and San feels truly pinned, walled in by black cloth and lithe muscle, his breath stolen by deep, relentless kisses, and his gut his churning and his heart is rending but this is as close as he can ever get, this is almost— _almost_ —what he’s longed for, ever since— 

“SAN-AH!” 

The man in black steps back so quickly that San almost falls. He manages to catch himself on the marble wall, slumping as his knees give way, his chest heaving and lips sore. Wooyoung—this Wooyoung, black-clad Wooyoung, _wrong_ Wooyoung—gives San one last, desperate look, and then he hooks the black mask over the lower half of his face, covering any evidence of what they just did. San ducks his head surreptitiously and rubs at his own lips, hoping that they’re not too red, that it isn’t too obvious.

“Get away from him!” barks a familiar voice, the same voice that called his name, and then San’s Wooyoung is there, shoving away the man in black and crowding San, eyes wide and shining, long dark hair framing the concern painted on his face. Soft, familiar hands flutter around San’s shoulders, his neck, his hair, gentle touches that make San’s chest clench. “Are you okay?” Wooyoung asks, his voice lower, for San’s ears only.

San nods, and Wooyoung pulls him forward into a hug, one hand threading into San’s hair, guiding his head into the crook of Wooyoung’s neck. San inhales shakily, and then winds his arms around Wooyoung’s waist, smothering the guilt smouldering in his veins. He doesn’t deserve this, but he is weak enough to keep it, if only for a moment.

“Did he hurt you?” Wooyoung asks, and San can hear raised voices echoing in the room, his Hongjoong arguing with a calm, irritated, unfamiliar Seonghwa. 

“No,” San says, and he’s honestly not sure whether it’s a lie.

Wooyoung must hear something in his voice, though, because he just tightens his hold on San and pets his hair in slow, soothing strokes. San’s throat feels thick. He buries his face against Wooyoung’s neck, feels soft dark hair tickling his skin.

“I have you,” Wooyoung says, soft and warm. “It’s okay. We’ll get what we need from them and go, all right? And we’ll never need to see them again.”

San nods again, knowing that Wooyoung can feel it, and they stand like that for a few more moments as the arguments die down and footsteps start to retreat, and San feels the weight of shadowed, raw, unfamiliar eyes lift from his back.

“I have you,” Wooyoung says again, half to himself, still petting San’s hair, and San curls around him, wishing that were true.

*

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated~ ♡
> 
> come yodel at me on twitter if you like
> 
> [main account](https://twitter.com/aintitnifty) | [writing account](https://twitter.com/magnificentbirb)


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